Runaway
by Illusive Woman
Summary: One day, in the summer after graduation, Allison and Bender leave Shermer behind forever. AllieBender FRIENDfic! Plus More!
1. Chapter 1

Authors Note: I know, I didn't finish my other one – but I had a dream last night, just one scene, and I had to write the entire story that went with it.

Disclaimer: I don't own nothin'.

It had been a good summer, at least for some of them. Graduation was behind them, and college still a month away as July became August. The five members of the Breakfast Club had survived high school, and it was a summer of celebration.

Claire was in Europe. Of all of them, she distanced herself the most from that fateful Saturday, so leaving them all for London, Paris, Rome, and Calais wasn't a hardship. She had a place at Wellesley and was waiting for college – a minor independence from her parents, her clique, her life.

Brian was taking summer classes at the local community college, getting some English credits out of the way before going off to MIT in a few short weeks. He had stayed friendly with them all, but still stuck with the "nerds".

Oddly enough, Allie, John, and Andrew became, especially in their senior year, very close. Allie's parents had furnished an apartment over their garage for an aging parent, now gone. Allie took that space over. Finally completely out of her parents' eyes, she was able to relax a bit. She decorated the space like a bohemian loft; full of beanbag chairs, beaded curtains, and candles.

And, of course, John and Andrew. It was a rare night she spent alone now, quite different from her life before, and far more welcome. Often, John spent the night on the futon couch he had helped lug up the stairs. He complained about her music, the scented candles, and her strange food, but when she told him that he could always go back to his parents house, he quieted his complaints to a grumble.

Andrew spent most evenings there, too. With no TV, the three spent their time doing homework and getting high with the stereo blasting. More interesting, at least to Allie, were the nights Andrew stayed over. _He_ didn't sleep on the futon. Whenever it looked as though Andrew wouldn't be missed at home, John quietly kicked himself out and either went home or crashed on the horrible mattress in the back of his van. Watching them be all kissy was enough – sleeping in the other room for the rest would be above and beyond.

But now Allie sat up there alone. No music, no pot, no people. Nothing. She sat, staring at the wall, her mind throwing thoughts at her faster than she could process them. Finally, with a small cry, she sprang to her feet. Two strides brought her to a closet and, reaching in, she tried to tug out her duffel bag. It was stuck on her hangers and with a great pull the bag and most of her clothing exploded out of the closet, sending her sprawling on the floor.

Pulling herself to her knees, she stuffed all her clothes into the duffel with no regard for folding or wrinkles. When that bag was so full it could hardly be zippered she began searching for others. In under an hour, she had a duffel of clothes, a suitcase full of sketchbooks and her portfolio, and her large purse with all the necessary toiletries. One last touch – a note taped to her stereo – and she paused to take one last look at the apartment. Softly, sadly, she closed the lights and, with her luggage, began to make her way to John's job in the center of town.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: I wrote this at the same time I wrote the first chapter, then lent my flash drive to someone before transferring the file. Argh! But, anyway, here's the second part….

Dragging her bags, it took her nearly an hour to reach the garage where John worked. With no desire for college, had had thrown himself into the work force, hoping to earn enough to move out officially of his father's house, instead of unofficially living on his friend's couch. He no longer spent money on booze, and only rarely on pot. Neither was as important as getting the hell out of that house.

That was why, on this muggy August night, he was the last one in the garage. Overtime was worth anything at this point. Andrew was in Chicago with his parents until the morning and John was hurrying through this last tune-up so he could get to Allie's. He didn't like leaving her alone – and if he was going to be honest with himself, he was looking forward to some time alone talking to her. Nowadays, he felt himself falling deeper and deeper into the background when those two were around each other. They always apologized when they realized they were shutting him out, but time to talk to the girl he'd come to consider his best friend in her own home was rare. Usually, they had their talks here, in the garage, when he worked late. In fact, he was surprised she hadn't shown up yet – she was usually here not long after work with a sketchpad and a story of her day.

Just as he thought this, he looked up to grab another tool and saw her standing in the doorway.

"Allie! Thought you'd never show." He straightened to greet her, then saw her face. And then the luggage. "What's wrong?"

"I need help," she whispered.

Worried by her haunted eyes and deathly-pale face, he pulled her over to a bench to sit. He loved her too much _not_ to worry. Oh, he wasn't in love with her, or anything tragic like that, but she had become like a little sister to him. He had spent his life thinking no one had it worse than him. But no matter how many times he took his father's beatings – well, at least it was attention, right? For however short a time, his father saw him. Allie's parents never saw her, not at all. So John found himself wanting to protect her, take care of her. See her.

And in return she loved him more than anyone ever had. She _listened_ when he talked, laughed with him, and altogether made him feel like a worthwhile human being. Nowadays, when he remembered how he behaved on the day of the Breakfast Club, it seemed strange. Oh, the rest of the world still saw him that way, and he still braved it up for Sporto – but never for Allie. He didn't have to pretend anymore, not with her. She'd woken him from nightmares, and spent hours tending to the damage his father inflicted on him. There was nothing more to hide; she knew him too well anyway.

Which is why worry was becoming panic as she sat, silent, rocking on the bench, her face a mass of moving shadow as the overhead light swung in a breeze.

"Allie?" he questioned. He reached for her and her hand shot up, grasping his. Suddenly her eyes were staring into his intently.

"I'm leaving. Tonight. Come with me – I can't do it alone."

He blinked a few times. A year ago, he would have had the car packed and both of them on the road before she even had to ask. But things, and people, change. So instead, he just asked, "Why?"

"Are you coming?" she demanded.

"Are you going to give me a good reason for coming?"

She glared at him and shoved herself to her feet. She looked out the window, her back to him, and the words came in a rush: "I'm going anyway, you know. With or without you, and with or without your car. But if you don't come with me, you have to live with yourself. For letting a pregnant woman hitchhike."

John blinked a few more times, his brain struggling to take in this new information. "You're . . ."

"Pregnant, yes."

"So why are you running away with me and not Jockstrap?" Even as he said the words, he thought he knew. Preppie had refused responsibility. Demanded an abortion, claimed it wasn't his kid, left her. He saw it played out every day, practically. "I'll kill him," John muttered as he yanked off his work gloves. No one knocked up _his_ little sister and walked away.

"He doesn't know." Allison's soft voice broke through the angry haze in his head.

"So you're just going to run? Not tell – just _disappear_ on him? How can you _do_ that? Don't you think he should know –"

"Because I won't get an abortion, John. And if I don't, and I stay, he'll try to be honorable. He loves me too much not to be, and I know that. And his parents will disown him – you know how they hate me. And what about college? He'd never get to go with a wife and baby hanging around his neck. He's got a scholarship. I can't fuck that up for him. I've left him a note, just saying I've taken off. Thanks for the good times, have a nice life, and all that."

She took a deep breath, obviously having more to say. John waited impatiently. "I've got money saved. I have an aunt in California who has wanted me to live with her since she found out she can't have kids of her own. I'll just show up at her doorstep – I can't explain over the phone, and I can't risk her double-checking with my parents. She'll let us live there for awhile. I can do chalk portraits on the beach, and there are plenty of rich people who need their cars fixed – _please_, John."

He couldn't believe he was actually considering doing this. He couldn't believe he was considering _not_ doing this. "But Andrew . . ."

"He'll recover. And he'll go to college, and he never has to know. If you go with me, he's the only thing here I'll miss. And I've already let him go."

It was a lie, and John knew it. She loved Andrew, adored him. She could go home right now, rip up that letter, tell him the truth, and marry him. And neither one of them would ever make it out of Shermer. Ever.

"When do we leave?" John asked.


	3. Andy

Author's Note: I own nothing, and I'm working on part 4 now :)

Chicago was boring. Every year, Andrew's father took him to at least one Cubs game, then out to dinner, and his mother – after suffering through both – forced everyone to attend a ballet or opera. Normally he didn't mind so much, but this year he missed Allison horribly. He couldn't even call her, or he would be subjected to another long rant about how "that girl" was ruining his life.

He was never happier than when he was with her, though. She didn't tell him what to think; she waited patiently while he figured it out for himself. She was funny, cynical, intense. She saw through the world's bullshit. She knew her own mind, and he loved that.

Andrew picked up his walking pace as her garage apartment came into view. She had a beautiful body and a beautiful soul. She had --

-- a trashed apartment.

He stopped dead in the doorway, aghast. It looked as though her closet had vomited empty hangers all over the floor. Her cassettes were scattered around and, most worrying of all, most of her art supplies were missing. But one thing caught his eye: his own name on an envelope taped to the stereo. Feeling as though his body was moving independently of his mind, he took the envelope and removed the single sheet of paper. His leaden legs gave out and he sat hard on the floor as he read.

_Dear Andrew,_

_This is hard. This is so hard. By the time you read this, I'll be on the road. I can't stay in Shermer anymore, I can't be with you anymore. You have college, and a place to go, and a future. I have to find all this for myself, and I can't do that here. Life is more complicated than we've been lead to believe._

_Don't worry about me. I have money and a place to stay. Watch out for yourself, Andy, and don't let anyone rule your life but you. Don't hate me, please. I love you. I'll always love you._

_Allison._

He sat on the floor, reading the letter over and over, willing the contents to change. But the meaning stayed: she was gone. He suddenly felt lost; the apartment was too large, too empty, and he was utterly overwhelmed by the world. Exactly how he'd felt his entire life until being with her had given him both courage and direction. A bump in the envelope caught his eye, and he dumped it out into his hand.

Cold and sparkling. Her school ring. It had her name emblazoned on it, along with the symbol for art on one side, and writing on the other. He flexed his own fingers, aware that she still had his ring. She ended the relationship, but kept the mementos.

His head snapped up. She wanted him to know himself, think for himself, then expect him to sit placidly here while she walked out of his life? _Fuck that._

Her apartment was already such a mess, he figured that digging into it wouldn't hurt that much. He went into the closet, under the bed, into every possible corner. He examined every piece of paper he came across, hoping for – something. An address, a sketch, _something_ that could tell him where she'd gone. But there was nothing. He sat on the bed, knocking aside hangers and a few socks. He loved this room. He'd lost his virginity here, on this bed, with her. And now he was sitting her alone. Closing his eyes, he willed his brain to work. To think. Stop feeling for a moment, and plan.

Bender! John would know where she was. He might not want to tell, but eventually he would. John would be worried about her, he wouldn't want her out on her own. At the beginning of the summer, John had bought a junked up van for a few hundred bucks and worked every spare minute to fix it up. Last week, it had been declared complete. No matter where she was, they had a way to get to her.

At a dead run, it took Andrew only ten minutes to reach Bender's job. Typically, if he wasn't at Allie's, he was at work. Andrew ducked his heat into the garage, but Bender was nowhere to be seen.

"You!" a man called. "What d'ya want?"

"Where's Bender?" Andrew gasped as he regained his breath from his run.

"Damned if I know! Didn't show for work today. His old man said his room's cleaned out. Guess he took off."

Andrew stopped breathing entirely. She hadn't just left him. She'd left him _for Bender_.

No. No. That didn't make sense.

"_I love you. I'll always love you."_

His hand drifted to his pocket, where he'd stored the letter and the ring. She wouldn't lie, not about that. She'd left _with _Bender, not _for_ Bender. As if that made anything better.

_So now what?_ He thought as he walked slowly home. Now what? Just go to Rice University without her? Between the two of them working, plus the stipend from his parents, they could have shared an apartment. She'd worked the numbers a hundred times before graduation. It was a plan. It could have worked. They both could have been free -- free from parents, free to be together.

Could, could, could.

_Where the hell was she?_


End file.
